


there's worse things

by Ailelie



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Handcuffed Together, Handcuffs, M/M, Prompt Fic, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 23:42:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ailelie/pseuds/Ailelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrew Shaw agrees to handcuff himself to something for two weeks to help raise money and awareness for women trapped in forced marriages. Brandon Bollig offers himself up as that something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's worse things

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to accidentallymelted for being a great beta.
> 
> The prompt for this fic was Shaw/Bollig, handcuffed together. While trying to think of an approach that did not involve sex, magic/magic shows, or crime, I found an article about [three women in the UK](http://www.nytimes.com/2013/11/23/world/europe/british-police-say-women-were-brainwashed.html?_r=0) and the term 'invisible handcuffs.' [Forced marriages](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forced_marriage) weren't something I'd ever looked into before, and I was surprised to [see](http://www.caribbean360.com/index.php/news/trinidad_tobago_news/1106087.html#axzz2rPbZbxXC) [how](http://againstforcedmarriages.org/) [widespread](http://www.thestar.com/news/investigations/2013/09/20/forced_marriages_a_hidden_problem_in_canada.html) [and](http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2013/11/05/muslim-girl-forced-marriage_n_4217206.html?utm_hp_ref=uk) [terrible](http://www.forcedmarriage.net/) [they](http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/10246597/Girls-escape-forced-marriage-by-hiding-spoons-in-their-clothes-to-set-off-airport-metal-detectors.html) [are](http://america.aljazeera.com/articles/2014/1/21/forced-marriage-isaliveandwellintheus.html). Project Visible is not real, but the organizations to which it would have given the money raised are: [Ganga Shakti](http://gangashakti.org/), [Karma Nirvana](http://www.karmanirvana.org.uk/), [the AHA Foundation](http://theahafoundation.org/issues/forced-marriage/), [the Tahirih Justice Center](http://www.tahirih.org/advocacy/policy-areas/forced-marriage-initiative/), and others.

"So," the reporter asked, holding out a recorder, "Could you share a bit more about that jewelry you’re sporting?"

Andrew grinned down at the handcuff he’d already locked around his wrist, the other cuff still loose. “It’s a charity thing. Project Visible. My ex told me about it.”

_Andrew had never really managed to make the whole ‘let’s be friends’ thing actually work, but then he’d never broken up with a woman like Chaun either. When Chaun said they were going to be friends, she meant it. So they still texted, teased each other Twitter, and hung out, but she no longer stayed the night, cuddled against him during a movie, or kissed him ‘hello’ and ‘good-bye.’ It was frustrating and awkward at times, but he liked it. Overall, he’d even say it was easier._

_Chaun was the one to discover Project Visible. In the UK, three women had been rescued after 30 years, held captive by what the police called ‘invisible handcuffs.’_

_"People don't realize how common this really is. Project Visible is going to raise awareness and hopefully some money, too."_

"So the deal was, a bunch of people would pledge to handcuff themselves to something for two weeks."

"Why did you choose to cuff yourself to Brandon Bollig?"

Andrew shrugged. “Some people were cuffing themselves to things like car seats or, like, a stuffed animal. So I asked Twitter for ideas.”

"And Twitter said Bollig?"

Andrew laughed. “Twitter suggested a camel. Bollig suggested Bollig.”

_Brandon picked up the pair of cuffs Andrew had gotten in the mail that morning from the project. “Something you want to share with this class, Mutt?”_

_Andrew rolled his eyes and held out his hand for the cuffs. “Charity, dude. Going to cuff myself to something for a couple weeks to raise money.”_

_"Something?" Brandon spun the cuffs around his finger. "You know, I bet I know what would really get the money rolling in."_

_"Yeah?"_

_Brandon let the cuff fall limp down his finger and over his knuckles. “What do you think? Is silver my color?”_

"That so?" the reporter asked, looking over Andrew’s shoulder. Andrew twisted and saw Brandon looking fresh in his suit, his hair still damp.

"Telling stories about me?"

Andrew grinned and shook the loose cuff hanging from his wrist. “Only that this was your dumb idea.”

"Brilliant, you mean." Brandon grabbed the cuff and snapped it around his own wrist, tugging Andrew’s arm lightly. 

"So how does this work?" The reporter gestured between them.

"Unless we’re sleeping, playing, or showering, we’re attached.” Brandon dragged their wrists up, showing off the cuffs as if the reporters hadn’t already snapped a dozen photos. “We also get 30 minutes a day of time out each.”

Andrew snickered. Day one had been disaster. After that, they’d agreed having the personal time each day was the only way they’d survive the two weeks both sane and still friends. Noticing the reporter glancing his way again, Andrew added, “And it’s only a week and a half until we’re both free.” 

The reporter smiled like she was supposed to. Then, glancing at the clock on her recorder, asked, “So, if your fans want to show their support for Project Visible, where should they go?” 

Andrew shared the web address and the other information Chaun had insisted he memorize. 

After dinner, Andrew coaxed Brandon back to the hotel early so they could get the cuffs off and he could crawl into bed. When he went to get the key, however, he couldn’t find it. He’d dumped out his bag and was cursing when he remembered Sharpy’s weird smile throughout dinner. “I think Sharpy stole the key.”

Brandon swore. “Back to the restaurant then?”

Andrew groaned. “Can we beat him up? Shit, I just want to sleep.” He rubbed up the side of his cheek to his temple where a headache was beginning to knot. “Think Duncs is still with him? He could bring us the key.”

Brandon eyed the bed. “Or, we could, you know, just sleep. I think I could survive sharing for a night, you?”

"Screw it." Andrew clumsily undid his slacks with his free hand and shoved them down his legs. He’d have to sleep in his dress shirt. Sucked for Brandon that he’d put his suit jacket back on before cuffing them back together; Andrew was glad he hadn’t. He glanced up. Brandon was staring at him. Andrew raised a challenging brow. "What, dude? I’m not sleeping in my pants. You?"

Brandon shook his head and then undid his own. Figuring out the bed was a bit trickier. Andrew preferred sleeping on his side, which meant the only comfortable position was curled inward toward Brandon, their cuffed hands flat on the bed between. He figured he should feel weirder about it, but he was so tired, he just didn’t care. He felt Brandon rub his wrist where the cuff chafed and then he was asleep.

The morning was weird. Brandon had pulled their hands under his pillow during the night and Andrew had fallen over him, his nose wedged against Brandon’s jaw, his knee pressed between Brandon’s thighs. His shoulder ached from how he’d slept on it, and he was glad they didn’t have a game for a few days. As it was, he was definitely going to get Sharpy back for this. 

Andrew tried to push off of Brandon, but he pushed on his wrist wrong and fell hard against Brandon’s chest. Brandon blinked slowly. Andrew pushed up again, using his other arm, and tried not to think about how Brandon’s head was between his arms or how his thigh was definitely sliding against Brandon’s maybe-interested dick. 

He wriggled his pinned wrist. “Want to let me up?”

Brandon pulled his elbow, buckling it, so that Andrew fell against him again. Chest to chest, barely leveraged up on his elbows enough to look down at Brandon, Andrew asked, “The hell was that?” And, all right, everything was a lot harder to ignore now—and just a lot harder all around. 

Brandon smiled at him, his eyes still soft with sleep. “Still early, yeah?”

"I wanted to get Sharpy and the key." And those were lips, definitely lips pressed chastely to his own and then Brandon was looking at him again.

Andrew weighed the ache in his shoulder and the pleasure of waking up Sharpy early in the morning against the warmth of Brandon beneath him and the uncertain twist to his mouth and pressed down with a stale, wet kiss. Brandon chuckled, his chest rumbling against Andrew’s and breath warm against Andrew’s mouth.

"Yeah?" he asked. 

Andrew braced his arm again, this time making sure to press his knee down hard and lean his thigh against Brandon’s dick. Brandon groaned. “Guess I could do worse,” he said. 

Brandon’s eyes narrowed and, with a sudden twist, Andrew was flat against the bed. “You,” Brandon said with a growl, “are an asshole.”

Andrew laughed. “Yeah. We gonna make out or what?”

Brandon answered with a hard kiss, his beard rough against Andrew’s chin and cheek. Their cuffed hands were now tangled together and Brandon pushed them down into the bed as he held himself over Andrew. It all tasted disgusting with the leftovers of booze and garlic bread, but Andrew didn’t care. Like he said, there were a lot of worse things he could be doing.

And this, this was good.


End file.
